


Under His Second Skin

by vocal_fries



Series: Subtext Becomes Text [14]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Blindfolds, Bottom Elim Garak, DS9 S3E5 "Second Skin", Dom/sub, Homesickness, Impact Play, M/M, Multi, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Restraints, Riding Crops, Smut, Synesthesia, Tags Contain Spoilers, Trust, Trust Kink, Turns out Garak sees pain, and pleasure and maybe hears it too, that's a thing right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 12:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocal_fries/pseuds/vocal_fries
Summary: Garak dissociates as feelings of homesickness and loss overwhelm him. Rennan gives Julian a helpful suggestion. Set during and after the events of DS9 S3E5 "Second Skin."





	Under His Second Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so my [Kinktober](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853536/chapters/49570721) project is working, y'all. My writer's block cracked under its own weight and I'm feeling super goddamn inspired lately. I'd written about 300-400 words of this since early May, and I wrote the other ~4800 in the past 24 hours. Yay!
> 
> If you're like "oh damn, 5200 words is a big commitment right now," consider checking out the Kinktober series! They're all Garashir, most unrelated and easy to drop into, all less than 1000 words (though generally not by much), and they're all just as fucking gross as everything else I write. Some even grosser? But the boys are so cutesy and undramatic, which is sorta fun since the Subtext Series is so cutesy and *deeply* dramatic. Lol.
> 
> Also: There are bits of dialogue in the first and third vignette of this work that are pulled directly from the episode. I claim no intellectual rights to those!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! Fucking bless those of you who are reading after 5+ months of radio silence on this series. I love y'all.

Elim Garak made an enigmatic face he knew would titillate the human. “Space is dangerous, Doctor,” he said conspiratorially. “You never know what might happen.”

“Garak,” Julian Bashir said dryly, raising his eyebrows in a hint of mocking, “you’re being paranoid.”

Their banter continued, and Garak played his part, but his mind wandered. He yearned to leave DS9. The walls felt closer every day. He was grateful for Julian, as well as for their Betazoid lover Rennan Grax, and the small number of friendly acquaintances he’d acquired over the past three years, but his life felt increasingly small. Limited. Claustrophobic. Worse yet, virtually all his dreams had begun to take place on DS9.

_ Cardassia is so distant I can no longer visit even in my sleep,  _ he thought mournfully. His chest ached.

Garak found a reason to excuse himself. He could feel Julian’s eyes on him as he walked away.

_____________________

As his screen refreshed, Garak’s heart beat faster. He scanned the new message eagerly.

Truth be told, he didn’t care much for Major Kira Nerys. He respected the abilities she’d demonstrated as a Bajoran terrorist during the rebellion, and he’d tried to be pleasant with her when she first arrived on DS9. Kira was openly hostile to him, which he also respected, in a way. He sometimes wondered if she knew that  _ he _ knew about  _ all _ her underground activities. Perhaps she felt embarrassed. Defensive. She was considered a war hero these days, after all.

Regardless, he’d been closely following her situation on Cardassia. Legate Ghemor’s name had drawn his attention immediately. Surely, it was not a coincidence, and the new message confirmed his suspicions. He quickly erased his trail, feeling a surge of purpose, excitement.

Garak felt unusually energetic as he set out to intercept Julian leaving the infirmary.

_____________________

Garak fixed an imperious look on the gul on the comm screen, a look that hinted at just the right balance of icy command and impatient hostility.

Gul Benil pushed back, but weakly.

Garak’s voice was clipped, precise, irritated. “This is an Alpha Red priority mission, clearance verification nine-two-one-eight-black. By the authority of the Central Command, you are ordered to turn your ships around. Erase all record of this encounter from your logs and talk of it to no one. Is that clear?”

As Garak spoke, the gauzy warmth of power slipped over him like Tholian silk. The scales of his spinal ridge rippled subtly. He robed himself in the feeling, even as he smoothed his face into something far more bland and innocuous to face Commander Benjamin Sisko, who was looking at him dubiously.

Garak smiled politely. “Ah, it was just something I overheard while hemming someone's trousers,” he quipped, pretending not to notice Sisko’s skepticism. “I suggest that we get away from here as quickly as possible, in case Gul Benil should decide to show some initiative.”

As they moved away, the warmth began to dissipate. Garak tried to ignore the cold, nagging futility that replaced it.

_____________________

The tension was exquisite.

Garak felt alive. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive. Every nerve was awake, every sense heightened. Fear had given way to cool, rapid calculation and a kind of physical competence he’d never imagined he’d experience again. Tension thrummed through his very being, one perfectly integrated system.

When Entek pulled his weapon, Garak had no doubt about what he was feeling as much as hearing. He whirled and fired his own phaser. As Entek dissolved, Garak’s blood ran hot. His lungs felt fuller, clearer than they had in years.

He remembered Kira and Odo waiting for him. Garak smoothed his face. “A pity. I rather liked him.”

_____________________

The door chimed. “It’s Julian,” a voice called.

“Come in,” Garak called back, setting down his glass of kanar on the end table next to his sofa.

The door whispered open, and Julian Bashir stepped into his quarters. His smile faltered slightly. “Did you forget I was coming?”

Garak stood, straightening the hem of his shirt. “Forgive me, my dear. It did slip my mind.” Julian looked hurt, and Garak offered a bright smile. “But I’m very pleased to see you. Can I get you a drink?”

“Just tea,” Julian said. Garak could feel the young man watching him closely.

They settled on the couch. Garak sipped his kanar.

Julian was still watching him. Studying him. Garak felt self-conscious. “Are you all right, Garak?”

“Of course,” Garak said pleasantly. “How are you doing, Julian?”

“No,” Julian said, shaking his head. “You’re deflecting. You’ve seemed off for a week. Melancholy, maybe, or distracted. And yesterday you killed someone. Kira told me,” he added when Garak raised a brow ridge. “So talk to me. What’s going on?”

Garak shrugged. “Entek tried to kill me, and I killed him first. Surely Kira mentioned that.”

“She did, but- I mean, you knew him, right? From- from before?” Julian asked, looking at Garak with concern.

Garak sighed. “I did know him. Not well. But I’m alright.” He met Julian’s eyes. “I didn’t enjoy it,” he lied, “but I’m glad to be alive.” That much was true. He needed to distract Julian, he realized. He didn’t want to talk about this, but the human had a persistent look on his face. Garak shifted forward on the couch, grasping one of Julian’s hands. He fixed a flirtatious look on Julian. “And to be alive with such a stunning young man, sharing a drink.”

Julian started to protest, but Garak cut him off. “I really don’t feel like talking about it, Julian.” His voice carried more of an edge than he intended. He squeezed the human’s hand, then kissed his fingers. “Please? It’s late. I’m tired.”

Julian’s brow finally relaxed. “Alright. Sorry. I know I push. What do you want to talk about?”

Garak grinned mischievously, setting down his kanar. “Why talk at all?” He closed the distance between them, letting his lips hover an inch from Julian’s. “I’d much rather take you to bed.”

Julian laughed, his breath catching just a little. “I thought you were tired.”

Garak’s grin widened, still close enough to Julian to feel his breath. “I’m getting a second wind.”

Julian tried to kiss him, and Garak evaded his lips playfully. He heard the human scoff, laughing. He grasped Garak’s jaw ridges and held his face while he kissed him. Julian bit Garak’s lip before he drew away.

Garak smirked. “Ow,” he complained flatly, licking his bottom lip as it swelled. “Someone’s feeling bratty.”

_ “Someone _ started it first,” Julian retorted, standing. He pulled Garak to his feet, leading him to the bedroom. They undressed quickly, hungry eyes watching one another. Julian got into bed, creating an inviting space next to him. Garak slipped between the sheets.

Their lips met, and Garak sighed against Julian’s mouth. Even with the specter of his recent trip to Cardassia looming large in his mind, it felt good to lie warm and secure next to Julian. The human straddled him, grinding his cock against Garak’s ajan, and began biting his neck ridges.

When Garak closed his eyes, the heavy cloud cover of a Cardassian sky materialized in his mind. He sighed with frustration, trying to focus on Julian. He opened his eyes, but he felt disconnected, like he’d phased out of time. Each burst of sensation drew Garak back for a moment. He tried to push the confusion away.

Fingers began to tease his ajan, and Garak spread his legs wider. He wanted to stop thinking about Cardassia. To be present with the gorgeous young man in his bed.

Julian positioned himself between Garak’s legs. Garak sighed with pleasure when a warm, eager mouth began licking his ajan, sucking at the delicate flesh. Hands caressed his inner thighs. The feeling faded.

Garak only realized he was lost in thought again when Julian began fingering him roughly. The Cardassian whimpered softly, trying to be in his body. Julian’s ministrations felt good, but Garak soon found himself lost in reverie again.

When Julian suddenly lay on his chest, looking at him with concern, Garak gritted his teeth, irritated with his inability to rein in his own thoughts.

“Are you alright?” Julian asked, voice soft.

Garak sighed. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Julian said, kissing his chest. “I’ve just never had trouble getting you to evert. I’m concerned, not upset. Are you feeling distracted about Entek?”

Deciding it was the easiest way to cut the conversation short, Garak nodded. “That must be it,” he said with a slight shrug.

Julian kissed his cheek. “We can just go to sleep if you still don’t want to talk about it.”

“But you-“ Garak gestured low on Julian’s body.

Julian shook his head. “Not so much now. I could fall asleep. If it’s okay for me to stay here?”

Garak nodded, even as a voice in his head ridiculed his acquiescence. “Of course.”

Julian smiled warmly. “Perfect. Let’s get some sleep.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Sorry.”

Julian curled an arm and a leg over Garak, nestling his face against the Cardassian’s throat. “Nothing to be sorry about,” Julian repeated. “Lights.”

As the room dimmed, Garak felt guilty. If Julian knew how desperately the events of the past few days had made him want to leave the station forever, had made him miss the Obsidian Order, had made him ache to wield true power again — if Julian knew any of that, Garak suspected there was no apology that could mend the resulting rift. The trusting, affectionate way the human held him only exacerbated his guilt.

The darkness taunted him. Sex hadn’t distracted him, and now sleep seemed just as unwilling. Garak wrestled with his thoughts.

He’d killed Entek. Some in the Order would be pleased, but surely he’d drawn the ire of others. He was too disconnected from the major arteries of information flowing through the Order to find out any time soon. Tain had often shown mild contempt for the man, so Garak thought the act itself probably merited no significant change in overarching attitudes toward him.

He’d killed Entek at the end of a mission in which he’d helped rescue a Bajoran military officer, though, and Garak suspected his role in smuggling out Kira and Ghemor had lost him a few friends. The fact that he’d only joined the mission under duress would hardly matter.

Sisko had forced his hand. Perhaps that frustrated him most. He’d been unable to refuse the mission. The commander had put Garak in a position in which he’d been forced to reveal an array of skills he’d rather his Starfleet and Bajoran neighbors not know he possessed. He’d need to be even more diligent about safeguarding his electronic activities. No doubt, Odo was already expanding his theories about who and what Garak was.

Garak almost scoffed at the thought. Who he was? A tailor. No one. Nothing. If he was truly still someone of consequence, he wouldn’t be here, getting coerced into life-threatening missions by some nobody Starfleet commander.

The reality weighed heavily on him.

The human next to him shifted, curling closer to Garak. It broke his reverie. Garak looked at Julian in the faint glow coming through his window. His heart constricted.

He loved Julian. What he’d thought might be a pleasant dalliance had turned into something much more valuable. Much more dangerous — for so many reasons, but perhaps foremost because there were moments now that Garak cared little about the Order, or power, or even leaving DS9. There were moments that he wanted to relinquish his duty to the state, to build something new and different with Julian. Something their own. It was blasphemy. It was terrifying, foolish, and utterly irresistible. Sometimes it tormented him, and sometimes it stilled the the torment around him.

Garak kissed Julian’s hair, and the human murmured sweetly in his sleep.

_ This will be my ruin, _ Garak thought dolefully, even as his heart swelled with affection.

Slowly, the warmth of Julian’s body and the sound of his steady breathing lulled Garak to sleep.

_____________________

“Hi, Garak,” Rennan Grax purred, stepping through the door of Garak’s shop.

“Ah, good morning, my dear,” Garak responded pleasantly as the Betazoid walked toward him. “What brings you by?”

Rennan glanced around the shop, then leaned in and kissed Garak. The Cardassian was surprised, but he smoothed his expression.

“My goodness,” he said archly, “you’re certainly courting scandal.”

Rennan laughed. “Yes, what will everyone think? Just last week, I kissed Julian in the Klingon restaurant and Jadzia outside the holosuites.” He winked. “I’m going to get quite a reputation on this station.”

Garak chuckled. “Since you’re here, let me show you a pair of the jacquard leggings you asked about. Come.”

He led Rennan to the back of the shop and followed him into a dressing room. He pinned the young man against the wall, kissing him hard. Rennan kissed him back, arching his body against Garak’s, then laughed breathlessly.

“This feels like false pretenses,” Rennan giggled.

Garak raised a brow ridge as he drew back from their kiss. “Hardly,” he said, then grabbed the leggings off a hanger and handed them to the Betazoid. “This is outstanding customer service.”

Rennan rolled his eyes. “Those just happened to be in here? I feel I’ve stumbled into a trap.” He removed the ribbed leggings he was wearing.

Garak chuckled. “They’re a wonderful aspirational item to keep on display while customers are trying on their own, typically much less interesting selections.” He flicked his eyes over Rennan. “If only all my customers could fill out a pair of leggings like you do.”

Rennan was turning in front of the mirror, grinning as he admired the way the textured fabric looked on his muscular legs. “It’s probably unduly arrogant to agree with you, but I love these. My ass looks like candy.”

Garak grinned. “If it’s arrogance, it’s warranted.”

Rennan put his arms around Garak’s neck. “I don’t suppose you have time for a piece of candy?”

Garak made a rueful face. “Unfortunately, no,” he said, running his hands over Rennan’s thickly muscled ass. “A new customer is coming by to talk about a commission in less than five minutes.”

Rennan pouted. “Too bad.”

“Mm,” Garak agreed.

“Can I wear these out?” Rennan asked, checking himself out in the mirror again.

“Of course, my dear,” Garak chuckled. They walked back to the front of the shop, where Rennan paid for the leggings.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you much lately,” Rennan said, leaning his elbows on the counter. “How have you been?”

Garak shrugged. “Busy, mostly.”

Rennan lowered his voice, glancing around. “I heard Sisko made you go on a mission. Is that true? Can Starfleet just force civilians to do things for them?”

Garak made a baleful face. “Yes and no. I was under no formal obligation, but Sisko strongly implied he could make life very dangerous for me if I didn’t go along.”

“Really?” Rennan’s black eyes widened. “That sounds incredibly unethical.”

Garak smiled humorlessly. “It certainly does.”

Rennan looked concerned. “Are you safe now?”

“Of course,” Garak said blithely, ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest. “I’ve endeared myself to Starfleet  _ and _ the Bajoran Provisional Government. I’m welcome to stay on DS9 for the foreseeable future.”

Rennan’s brow creased, and he put a hand on Garak’s arm. “Are you alright?”

Garak huffed. “Don’t try to read my mind.”

Rennan rolled his eyes. “I’m not! I’m reading your face and your body language. You look like you just left the room.”

Garak sighed. Rennan looked at him encouragingly, and he sighed again. “I admit I’ve been distracted the past day or so. Leaving the station for that mission was—thought-provoking.”

Rennan nodded. “Of course. Is that the first time you’ve been back to Cardassia since...?”

“Yes,” Garak said quietly. He looked closely at Rennan, who was listening in that deeply attentive way of his. “It’s given me a lot to think about.” He paused. “Last night I felt too distracted to- I couldn’t clear my head long enough to have sex with Julian.”

Rennan’s eyes widened slightly. “Wow.” Garak felt dark eyes study him. “If you-“

“Good morning!” Garak said loudly to his appointment as she walked in the door. He glanced at Rennan, who smiled understandingly.

“Let’s talk soon,” the Betazoid said as he left the shop.

_____________________

When Garak arrived at Julian’s quarters that night, the human greeted him with a mischievous smile and a glass of kanar. They sat on his sofa, facing one another.

“Rennan came by the infirmary today,” Julian told him, sipping his springwine.

“Oh? Is he alright?”

Julian smiled. “He’s fine. He came by to show off those  _ ridiculously _ hot new leggings he bought from you.” They both chuckled affectionately.

Garak thought Rennan’s unusually direct approach to seeking attention was admirable. The young man was incredibly transparent, but he was also exceptionally honest — a refreshing change of pace from all the incredibly transparent, deeply dishonest people Garak dealt with daily.

“They’re stunning, aren’t they?” Garak grinned.

“Mmm,” Julian agreed. “I think I’ve already said so, but I really approve of your decision to become his personal style consultant. He’s been looking sexier than ever the past few months.”

Garak laughed. “He’s an ideal canvas.” He lowered his brow ridges playfully, looking at Julian. “And he doesn’t try to fight me when I make suggestions.”

Julian laughed, refilling his wine. “But I don’t  _ ask _ for your suggestions!”

Garak sighed dramatically, swirling his kanar. “I’m fully aware.”

Julian laughed, then cleared his throat. “So Rennan, actually, made a suggestion- for us.”

Garak raised a brow ridge, intrigued. “Oh?”

“He thinks you need to clear your head.”

Garak smirked. “Does he.”

Julian nodded. “He said you seemed to have a lot on your mind when he went by the shop this morning. He, um-” A pause.

The smirk held. “Are you feeling shy, Julian?”

The human blushed suddenly. “I didn’t until you said that.” He stood, retrieving a long box from the dining table. He sat back down, opening it. “He gave me this.”

Julian pulled a heavy Cardassian riding crop from the box. Garak’s genuine surprise gave way to intrigue and delight. He suppressed a laugh.

_ Rennan, you little menace, _ he thought fondly.

“I see,” Garak said aloud. He looked wolfishly at Julian. “And just how did he propose you use this to clear my mind?”

Julian pulled a long strip of fabric out of the box, then another.

“Triaxian silk?” Garak was impressed. “How luxurious.”

Julian smiled, a hint of trepidation in his features. “Two years ago, you told me you wouldn’t be bound or blindfolded by me. How do you feel about those things now?”

Garak felt warmth between his legs and a flutter in his gut as he considered the question. He studied Julian’s hopeful, tentative expression. He felt the enormity of the past two years hanging thick in the air between them.

Julian blushed again, speaking before Garak had a chance to answer. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. I-”

Garak put a hand on Julian’s knee. “Let’s do it.”

Julian’s hazel eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Garak offered a small smile that seemed to reassure the younger man. “I want to. Rennan’s right. I need to clear my head.” He paused, reflecting. “And I won’t really relax as long as I’m- in control.”

Julian’s pupils dilated. “Alright.” He sipped his wine, then set it down. He took a deep breath, looking at Garak with heated eyes. “What’s your safeword?”

“Teriyaki.”

“Parameters?”

Garak thought for a moment. “Double-lock the doors.” Julian nodded. “I want to make you cum, at some point. In me, on me, that’s your choice.”

Julian grinned. “I can manage to fit that in somewhere.”

“And I want to cum. Eventually.”

“Absolutely.” When Garak didn’t continue, Julian raised an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

Garak considered. “No. Those factors are important to me, but I think I need to trust you to decide the rest. You know my pain threshold.”

Julian leaned over and kissed Garak. When the human drew back, he was grinning. “You have five minutes to get ready.”

_____________________

Triaxian silk slipped over Garak’s eyes, cool and watery. Julian tied the fabric, then tested its strength. Garak felt air move next to his face.

“Can you see that?” Julian asked.

“No?”

“Perfect. I wasn’t sure it was thick enough.”

Warm hands tied the other piece of silk around one wrist, then pushed him down so he lay flat on his back on the bed. Julian pulled the arm over Garak’s head. Soft brushing sounds suggested Julian was looping the fabric around a bar on the headboard. Julian drew Garak’s other hand up, tying it.

“Pull on it a few times,” Julian instructed. Garak jerked his hands, but the silk held. “Good.”

The mattress shifted as Julian stood up. He heard Julian circle the bed slowly.

“You look beautiful like this,” the human purred. “Laid out for me.”

Garak shivered slightly. Julian was walking back in the other direction.

“Waiting for me to touch you. So attentive.” The cool edge of something — the crop, Garak guessed — skimmed across Garak’s abdomen, and he squirmed. He could hear the smile in Julian’s voice. “So sensitive.”

The crop ran lightly up one of Garak’s arms and down the other. He shivered, suppressing a whimper.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Julian said, his voice a sinister singsong. “You’re trying to be quiet.” His voice was suddenly next to Garak’s aural ridge. “Don’t you  _ dare _ imagine I’m going to let you be quiet.”

Garak’s scales lit up with sensation as the whisper tickled him. He breathed, steadying himself.

Julian laughed, a few feet away again. “What did I just say?” The crop came down on Garak’s chest, and he gasped. “You-” Julian brought the crop down on Garak’s hip, the soft zabu leather stinging. “Don’t-” his thigh. “Get-” his chest. “To-” his shoulder. “Be-” hip again. “Quiet!” inner thigh.

By the fourth impact, Garak’s gasps had a hint of voice in them. He wondered at his own resistance. He’d submitted to Julian often enough, especially over the last several months since the malfunction and removal of his cranial implant. He’d become more comfortable, more expressive, with the human than he’d ever imagined possible. Yet here he was, biting the inside of his own mouth to suppress the moans and whimpers threatening to escape.

Garak realized Julian had been still for a long time. He didn’t hear footsteps. He strained to hear breathing.

As the silence settled, Garak felt the residual sting where the crop had struck him, little flashing points of light in his integument. He saw the skyline of Lakarian City emerge in that starlit darkness, and his chest tightened. He hadn’t seen the city on the rescue mission to save Kira, but he’d seen it in his dreams both nights since. Garak trembled. He saw Tain’s face, cold, as it had been the last time they’d seen one another. He saw Entek dissolve, the look of sheer surprise on his face at being killed by someone like Garak. An outcast. An outsider. He saw a street in Lakarian City, an avenue he’d often walked in spring as the red leaf tea trees bloomed.

The crop cracked against his opposite hip, bringing him back to the present. Garak jumped. He hadn’t heard Julian move. Another crack, this time on the sole of his foot. He yelped.

“There we go,” Julian said, his voice sinking nearly to a growl. The crop whizzed through the air, striking Garak’s thigh. The impacts were growing much harder, and Garak whimpered.

Suddenly, the crop rained down on him. Arms, chest, ribs, hips, thighs, feet. Garak groaned under the stinging assault. He tried and failed to find a pattern to the strikes. It continued for long minutes, dislodging thoughts of Lakarian City, of Entek, of Tain, of tea trees.

When the crop stilled, Garak lay panting. The sting was intense now, ringing shrill in his nerves. He saw constellations of light, little holes where the pain — the relief — broke through the darkness.

“More,” he whispered. “Please.”

He heard a throaty chuckle. “Roll over. On your stomach.”

Garak twisted, realizing Julian must have tied his hands close together for this purpose. As he settled, prone, the pressure on his scales gave a second life to the sting on the front of his body.

Garak had hardly stilled when Julian brought the crop down, harder than ever, across his shoulders. Garak whined, then grunted under a series of rapid strikes that lit up the backs of his thighs.

“Yes,” he gasped, breathing heavily.

The crop struck his hips, his ass, his ribs. Garak writhed, whimpering.

A long pause. Garak shifted, wanting more. “Please,” he whispered, spreading his legs farther apart.

Another long pause. He felt the crop stroke along the inside of his left thigh, feather-light, and he shivered. It struck the sensitized microscales, and Garak cried out. The crop fell upon him faster, harder. It was brutal, and he wanted desperately for it never to end.

It did, suddenly. Garak lay quiet, still except for the quaking he could no longer control. His integument pulsed, a hundred points of light that dazzled him with their intensity.

“Garak,” Julian said, voice firm but with an undercurrent of concern.

“Yes,” Garak responded, his voice soft.

Instead of a verbal answer, Garak felt the end of the riding crop stroke lightly over the swollen lips of his ajan. He squealed, squirming with a mix of fear and arousal. It tapped against the engorged lips twice, very lightly, and he cried out.

“Good,” Julian purred. He swatted Garak’s hip lightly with the crop. “On your knees.”

Garak pulled his legs under him, vaguely surprised his muscles cooperated so readily. He waited on hands and knees, listening to Julian’s soft footfalls circle the bed.

They stopped behind him, and strong hands pulled his hips. Garak fell to his elbows. Julian had moved him closer to the edge of the bed, but the silk tying his hands held. Garak knelt like a supplicant, arms stretched across the bed in front of him, forehead against the mattress. He felt secure in his inability to move, relaxing into the position.

Garak felt the head of Julian’s cock come to rest against his ajan. Garak mewled. “Yes,” he gasped. “Please.” The blazing light he felt between his legs chased the stinging under his scales until they were merely glinting echoes of that grand brilliance. “Please,” he pleaded.

Julian held Garak’s hips still and slowly, slowly, agonizingly slowly pushed his erection into Garak’s ajan. Garak wailed as his body stretched around the hard, heavy organ. Once fully inside him, Julian held still, breathing loudly enough for Garak to hear over his own desperate panting. Garak’s prUt had yet to evert, and Julian fit tightly within him, the pressure delicious.

“Please,” Garak begged, utterly shameless. He needed this. He was only this. “Please.”

Finally, Julian relented. As he began to thrust, the crop lit up new points of light across Garak’s hips and ass, connecting to the blinding brilliance of sensation between his legs. A growl of pleasure turned into a scream of ecstasy as Julian’s hips snapped hard, sharp, relentless.

The tension was exquisite.

Garak heard nothing but his own voice crying out for more, felt-saw-tasted nothing but the liquid lightning between his legs spread outward through each stinging point of light, obliterating the darkness.

Heat, or maybe it was light, or maybe it was pain, or maybe it was euphoria, exploded from him. Inside him? He couldn’t be sure. He pulsed, his body (his mind?) reduced to a complicated series of chemical reactions playing over a network of nerves with little distinction among them.

Garak was lying facedown, arms over his head. He could feel Julian, still inside him, reaching up to untie his wrists. Garak let his arms lie where Julian left them. The blindfold slipped away. Garak didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t need to.

Lips pressed against the back of his neck. “Garak,” Julian breathed, barely audible, next to his aural ridge.

Garak huffed air, too comfortable to speak from inside the thick, pleasant languor that enveloped him.

Julian kissed the back of a shoulder scale, then lay still for a long moment.

Garak felt weightless, boneless, yet deeply aware of his body. Of being a body. He felt his heart beating, his lungs expanding and contracting, his nerves sparkling in the aftermath of the crop and Julian and the orgasm that had all but left him unconscious. His throat was slightly raw. He felt the warmth of Julian’s skin against him, arms that held him like something precious.

He let Julian roll him onto his back. He gazed into hazel eyes that looked at him reverently.

Julian curled around him, and Garak reveled in the warmth. Warm hands stroked his hair, his face. Warm lips brushed his brow, the delicate ridge across his cheekbone.

“I won’t make you move or talk if you don’t want to,” Julian said softly, “but I think you should drink some water. Do you feel ready for that?”

Garak considered the question for a long moment before giving a slight nod. Julian carefully extricated his arms, twisting to retrieve a glass from the bedside table. Garak propped himself on one elbow and took the glass. He drained it, contemplating the vaguely herbal flavor of the water. Julian had grabbed a cloth and was wiping semen off Garak’s belly and thighs. He set it aside, then took the glass from Garak’s hand.

Garak lay back down, and Julian spread a blanket over them.

Garak regarded Julian closely. His head lay on the same pillow, only inches away. The sheen of sweat on his forehead was drying. He met Garak’s eyes and held them, steady. The moment stretched. Warmth spread through the Cardassian, softening the edges of the residual stinging that pulsed beneath his scales. He cupped Julian’s face with one hand, stroking his cheek and jaw with a thumb.

Julian’s face creased into the tenderest shadow of a smile. Garak gazed back.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Julian finally broke the silence. He didn’t think to wonder.

“Did I break you?” Julian whispered quietly, eyes glinting playfully.

Garak felt his face mirror the faint but tender expression on Julian’s face. “Yes,” he whispered back.

Julian placed his hand over Garak’s, still resting on his cheek. The hint of a smile grew. “Did it help?”

“Mmm,” Garak affirmed.

Julian smiled. He tilted Garak’s face toward him. Their lips met, soft. Garak smiled faintly as his heart beat faster, nerves lighting up. Julian looked at him again. “What are you thinking?”

Garak’s lips quirked. “Nothing.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever believed you,” Julian said affectionately. He kissed Garak’s forehead, and the Cardassian closed his eyes, drifting. “When you wake up, you better do something really goddamn nice for Rennan.”

**Author's Note:**

> I realized as I was writing this that I was characterizing all of Garak's sensations in the final scene in a very synesthetic way, which I didn't plan. He's reintegrating after experiencing some pretty intense dissociation, and he's blindfolded, and that all felt right, so I leaned into it. That said, I know some of my regular readers aren't native English speakers, so I apologize if anyone felt confused by the descriptions. I definitely muddled his senses together.


End file.
